


Collapse

by awkward_rotter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Chuck Lives, Crossover, Dark Newt, Demonic Possession, Demons, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Gally Lives, Hallucinations, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Newmas - Freeform, Nightmares, Smut, Werewolves, evil newt, newtmas - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-03-11 13:29:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3328316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkward_rotter/pseuds/awkward_rotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas is in Beacon Hills. For the first time in years. He escaped the maze with Minho and the Gladers. Now he's back home, in the town where they keep calling him Stiles, he is drawn back into the mess he'd left behind before the Maze. But now there's a new problem and it isn't a werewolf, or a Kanima, or WICKED, but instead an evil hiding inside Newt himself. Only thing is... Newt died in the maze before they could escape. They buried Newt. So why is he killing people in Beacon Hills?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so some things might not make sense in this first part but never fear! All will be explained if people like this enough!   
> I am aware I'm horrible at writing, I do apologise for that.  
> I don't know if I'll be continuing this, I probably will though.

"THOMAS!"

He woke up to Minho screaming his name. His body was rigid with fear as he sat bolt upright and Minho charged into the room, a few Glader's trailing behind him with a similar look of shock on their muddy faces. Thomas knew watched Minho, the boy silently staring as if he couldn't muster the strength to speak. He knew that look. He'd seen it before.

"Thomas," Minho finally stated quietly, "It's Newt. He won't listen to us. Something's wrong." Thomas didn't so much as falter when he shot out of his bed, the Gladers moving out of his way as he ran through the door. Minho followed.

"Where is he?" He asked urgently.

"By the East Gate, he's just... standing there. He won't acknowledge any of us." 

His blood ran cold. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened. It was one of his episodes. Last time Newt damn near died when he kept refusing food or water. So Thomas kept running. The faster he got there the faster he could stop whatever Newt was thinking of doing. Eventually, he saw them. His body ached from running and sleep was still settled in his joints but the seeing Newt's back facing him and the group of Glader's trying to get his attention was enough to spark energy in him. He slowed only when he was within arms reach of Newt. 

"Oh thank klunk you're here, Thomas!" A Glader sighed loudly and even Gally seemed relieved, although that sour expression never left.

Thomas couldn't even speak. He could barely collect his thoughts quickly enough for any kind of answer to form. He simply rushed to face Newt, planting his feet firmly in front of the boy. Newts expression was blank. Not a sliver of emotion, no pain or fear, nothing. His eyes were focused on something, but at the same time nothing. Thomas placed his hand on Newts shoulder, shaking him lightly before placing the other on his cheek. His skin was so shucking cold, like ice, and was paler than the moon. Thomas ran his thumb over Newts cheekbone gently.

"Newt? Newt, come on buddy." He shook him again, "Wake up!" Newt didn't even so much as blink. Why were his eyes so dark? All that warmth had left them and they were as cold as his skin. 

"What do you think he's going to do?" Minho asked cautiously. Thomas could only shrug.

"I-I don't know."

"Well, let's move him away from the maze shuckface." Gally exclaimed, strutting forward and before Thomas could stop him he grabbed Newt's arms. There was a shrill yell and a low boom as Gally flew through the air and hit the ground a few metres away, Newts arm outstretched towards him but his eyes still focused on the same point. Gally groaned and rolled, glaring heatedly at Newt. Newts arm dropped back to his side, Thomas watching him with a slack jaw. Newt spoke, but the voice was not his own. **  
**

**_"No."_ **

"N-Newt? Jesus Christ, what the..." Thomas stepped forward and eyed Newt warily. Then it happened. The loud booming and grinding, it was sudden and deafening and many Gladers covered their ears, spinning and scurrying backwards. The doors were opening.

"Why are they opening!?" Minho yelled above the noise.

"I don't know!" Thomas replied just as loud, his throat burning at the strain. 

The noise stopped. The Gladers dropped their hands, sighing thankfully. The doors were wide open. Thomas only just caught Newts movement out of the corner of his eye, the blond lurching forward with alarming speed and sprinted right for the now open doors.

"NEWT!" Thomas pushed off as soon as he realised what was happening, his heart jumping into his mouth. He ran like his life depended on it, shouting for the others to stay behind. He tried to keep his friend in his view but the blond was too fast, disappearing around a corner. Cursing, Thomas slipped around the corner too, catching himself before he could fall to his knees.

"NEWT, STOP!" Now he couldn't see him. Dread struck him like a whip, bile rising in his throat.  _Oh God..._ His mind was a flurry of emotion and confusion.

There was a rustling noise and Thomas slowly looked up at the high walls, fearing the idea of a Griever during the day, but instead he could see someone climbing the vines up the face of the wall. It was Newt. The sun was lighting up his blond hair even from this distance. Thomas immediately scrambled to the base of the wall, grabbing the vines with shaking hands and pulling himself with a small grimace. No way was he going to reach Newt quickly... But still, he kept going. His hands were sore and stinging, small tears blurring his vision as Newt vanished from sight over the top of the wall. _I thought the vines never reached the top,_ he thought, staring up in shock, but he continued to climb despite the questions now burning into his mind. He caught up sooner than he thought, dragging his suddenly tremendously heavy weight over the top and gasping for breath.

"N-Newt.." He muttered, the blinding sun shining into his eyes as he looked at the blond. It was strange up here. 

The wind was soft, their clothes rippling slightly, and the air was clear and warm. It felt so empty. There was not so much as a grunt or a shout from the maze. Newt was standing at the end, his head tilted down and his arms hanging loosely by his sides. He got to his feet carefully, realising it was only a small singular wall that didn't connect to any others. 

"Newt, look at me." Thomas stepped forward, "Please."

 _ **"Go away."**  _The voice was deep, hoarse and definitely did not belong to Newt. There was an echo in it, like another voice was following it, a smaller voice, a familiar voice.

"Whatever's happening to you, we can help," Thomas continued and the dark chuckle he was met with made shivers roll up his spine. Newt didn't move, "Newt, come on."

"T-Tommy...?" A short breath of relief escaped Thomas as he heard Newts real voice, but it was broken. He lifted his head, slowly turning to face his friend and his feet dragged against the pale grey surface.

"Yes, Newt, it's me, it's Tommy." Thomas smiled a little. His Newt was back. His Newt. The real Newt.

"What happened?" Newts voice was barely a whisper, his face drawn into a grimace of blank confusion while his eyes narrowed through the glaring sun.

"You had another... Episode." Thomas wet his lips, "Newt, I... I thought you were going to jump." Newt glanced around him at a painfully slow pace, his warm eyes drifting back to meet Thomas' before they widened and his face relaxed into an exhausted expression of youth.

Then Thomas saw  _it._ It stood behind Newt. That figure, that shadow, stood there with no features upon its face. It was just a shadow, but it had a pair of blood red eyes glowering maliciously over his Angels shoulder hungrily. Thomas couldn't move. His voice failed him and then he felt the fear and it gripped him, holding him down like a ten tonne weight. He could only watch as the shadow man's hands curled around Newts waist, but that's just what they were; shadows, no solid mass alerted Newt to the invasion.

He suddenly choked and a plume of crimson erupted against his shirt, spreading like wildfire. Thomas was helpless. He couldn't move, no matter how hard he tried. He heard Newt's strangled breath as the blood caused the shirt to stick to his stomach, his skin turning deathly pale and the shadow was no longer there. Just Newt. 

"Tommy..." He breathed.

Thomas felt fears restraints around him snap. He raced forward clumsily, his desperation clouding his vision and his senses... But Newt was already falling. He tipped backwards, his arms lifting as gravity took him. Nothing was there to break his fall. It was like everything was moving in slow motion.

Thomas skidded to a halt by the edge of the cliff, arms reaching out wildly to catch Newt, but it was too late. Newt had fallen over the edge. He could only watch and he couldn't breathe anymore, his lungs refused to work as he gazed into Newts eyes. They were full of... Of hope. Thomas screamed and flinched as Newt hit the ground. His golden hair looked like a halo against the pooling sea of blood beneath him. Thomas couldn't stop screaming.

_**"NEWT!"** _

When Minho found him, he was back on the ground. Thomas was cradling Newts body, the blond boys blood covering his arms and his face where he'd buried himself in Newts scent, and it soaked his clothes. Minho felt sick. Thomas rocked Newts body back and forth, crying silently as his friends limp arms dragged slightly on the ground in the blood and his legs were awkwardly bent like he'd been sitting. Minho would never forget his eyes. Those eyes were once full of warmth and intelligence. Now they stared ahead unseeing and empty, like all light in him had flickered out.

It took a while for Minho to convince the distraught Runner to come back to the Glade. Eventually, Thomas was calm enough to be able to lift Newts body and carry him Bridal style in his arms to the doors. Newt was so fragile, and it took all of Thomas' strength not to break down and drop him. Reaching the Glade was a blur to him, his mind still numb. 

"Oh God,"

The voices hit him first. the Gladers were all waiting for them. Even Gally. Thomas walked towards them slowly and he grew aware of how he must have looked. But he ignored it. Newt was dead, nothing else mattered. The Gladers crowded around him, some of them crying when they looked at Newts lifeless body, some paling and staring silently as Thomas walked past. The sun was setting now. They barely even acknowledged the grinding of stone on stone as the doors closed. Thomas had to keep looking forward. They had set up a bonfire, some were even sitting around it talking and laughing. Minho walked beside Thomas, glancing at the teens blood splashed face every now and then. Thomas' face was stiff and emotionless, but his eyes were nearly wide with restraint like he was trying so hard not to just break down right then and there. 

They reached the bonfire, the warmth hardly even touching them. Thomas looked down at Newt as he gingerly lay the blond down. He knelt down heavily, the camp was now void of any voices or laughter. Every Glader was watching. Reluctantly, Thomas reached out, his hand shaking violently as it hovered over Newts face and he gently pushed Newts eyelids closed. His hand fell, resting on Newts chest. No heartbeat. Nothing. A cracked sob slipped out and he clamped a bloodied hand over his mouth quickly, rocking forward. His face screwed up in pure despair, the tears red with the blood on his face.

"Thomas, I'm so sorry..." Minho whispered. 

"He's gone," Thomas cried, "He's gone."

"I know," Minho sighed, his own heart shattering at the sight of his oldest friend lying broken by the fire, "I know."

"N-Newt..." Thomas whimpered, his fingers clutching Newts shirt tightly, "Newt, please don't.." The Gladers watched solemnly, "Newt, please... Newt!" Thomas shook the blond, his eyes darting over his body, "Please! Don't leave me! Newt!" Thomas started shaking him harder, Minho's eyes widened as he grabbed Thomas' shoulder.

"Thomas, stop it."

"He can't do this!" Thomas was getting frantic now, his hands finding Newts face and shaking him again,  _"Newt!"_

"Thomas!"

Minho and Gally grabbed him by his arms, pulling him away as he thrashed and screamed. The crowd parted and Thomas fought against them as hard as he could, Newts body getting further away as they dragged him. When they stopped the body was only a blob in front of the fire. Thomas felt light headed. He gasped for air, blinking away the tears and exhaustion from his eyes while the hands holding him down lost their brutality. He was numb with loss. The world went black and he was unconscious before he could even feel himself hit the grassy floor, a familiar voice whispering to him.

_**"Tommy..."** _


	2. Waking Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a very eventful chapter I'm afraid! Although there is a little surprise near the end!

**_"Tommy..."_ **

**_"Why did you let me fall Tommy?"_ **

**_"Why didn't you catch me?"_ **

**_"It's all your fault."_ **

**_"I hate you Tommy."_ **

**_"TOMMY!"_ **

Thomas woke up faster than lightning, his chest heaving. His breathing filled the room and he brought his quivering hand to his face, rubbing his eyes messily. His shirt was sticking to him, the sweat drenching him creating a wet patch where he had just laid on the bed. Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, he held back a sob. His body convulsed and his shoulders shook as he cried, but he refused to let any sound escape him. That voice was still clear as a bell even after all this time. The room suddenly became a furnace. Thomas had to get out, the heat was filling him up and invading his lungs. 

Jumping to his feet, Thomas rushed downstairs. As he went for the door, still in his pyjama bottoms and grey t-shirt, he heard the lights turn on and footsteps at the top of the stairs. Arching his head to look over his shoulder, Thomas was not too surprised to see his dad standing at the top of the stairs.

"Stiles?" He questioned sleepily. Thomas winced. The name never did feel right, but he never had the heart to tell anyone to call him Thomas... least of all his own dad.

"Hey, dad." Thomas croaked, his voice soft and hoarse. His dad eyed him carefully in the dim light.

"Where are you going?" Thomas wet his lips and he found he couldn't look his dad in the eye.

"I'm... I need to go for a walk." He said at last and his dad frowned.

"Why are you sweating?" He inquired, taking a step down the stairs.

"It's nothing, dad, it's just really hot and I-I need to... I need to go." He ended his rambling and turned heel, ignoring his dads calls as he pulled the door open and shot out into the dark. 

The cold air hit him like a brick wall, and the biting sting of the hard rain registered as he ran down the street towards the only place he remembered. Running like this felt strange. Every muscle, every nerve, every joint was alive again. He ran faster, the rain seeping into his eyes and blurring his vision, but it was like he was running through the maze again. The mere thought of the maze spurred him on. His legs moved fluidly now, his arms swinging viciously and he felt like he was flying. Until he saw the lights of the one familiar house: Scott's house. He skidded to a stop at the front door and stood there. He didn't want to turn around, he couldn't bring his arms to move. It felt like he had met a dead end in the maze.

"Stiles?"

Blinking, reality struck Thomas. He realised that the door had been opened and Scott was standing in the doorway, gazing at his friend with a furrowed brow and worried eyes. Thomas breathed out slowly, leaning against the door frame when his legs grew weak.

"Scott, I just..." Thomas didn't know what to say. Scott moved slightly and gestured for him to enter and the dripping brunette slipped into the warm corridor quickly.

"What's wrong?" Scott asked, the pair finding themselves in the kitchen, "You ran over here in your pyjamas?"

"I...I had another, erm, nightmare and I freaked out..." Thomas rubbed his hands on his pyjama bottoms, and ignored Scott's exasperated sigh.

"These nightmares are getting worse," Scott said, watching Thomas carefully. Thomas nodded.

"I know." He mumbled weakly and Scott grabbed some glasses from the cupboards.

"Get yourself some milk or something. I'll go get a towel and some dry clothes for you to sleep in." Scott said sternly, "Then we're going to talk about these nightmares."

"Okay." Thomas didn't have the strength to argue, Scott deserved to know.

Thomas opened the fridge, listening to Scott's footsteps as the brunet went upstairs. He took out the milk and poured it steadily into the cups. Once it was away, Thomas couldn't bring himself to drink. He felt sick. Now he was going to tell Scott everything. He had to. Keeping it a secret was just going to cause more damage. He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"Stiles, I'm back." Scott called before entering the room and Thomas flinched. Scott was holding out some pyjamas and a towel and Thomes took them gingerly.

"Get changed in the living room, call me when you're done and then we'll talk." 

Thomas nodded silently. He went into the living room as he was told and stripped. The wet clothes peeled off and he dried himself off half heartedly, putting the dry clothes on and relished the warm feeling they gave him. He slumped down on the sofa and called for Scott, he voice surprisingly strong. Scott sat beside him slowly, handing him his milk. Thomas muttered his thanks. 

"Now, tell me what these dreams are about." Scott demanded softly. Thomas shrugged. 

"The maze." He said curtly. 

"I know that." Scott replied irritably, "I meant what specifically. What happened that was so bad?" 

"I... I saw things in that maze. Things I don't want to see again, but show up whenever I close my eyes. The Grievers taking people away. Taking my friends." 

"You lost someone close to the Grievers?" Scott questioned and Thomas shrugged again.

"I lost Alby." 

"What was he like?" 

"He was like the leader. Strong. He got stung before... Before they got him. I hadn't seen Newt so upset in my whole time there." He froze after saying this, Newts name slipping out of his lips before he thought about what he was saying. 

"Newt?" 

"Yeah." Thomas couldn't think of a response. Newts words were still playing in his mind. Could he talk about Newt? 

"You've gone really pale," Scott interrupted his thoughts, his brow furrowing, "You okay?"

"It's just... Newt.." Tears started building in his eyes and Scott embraced him. He froze. This feeling was foreign. Only Newt had ever hugged him. This time it felt different. Scott pulled away slowly, looking into Thomas' eyes worriedly. 

"What happened to Newt?" He inquired and Thomas brushed the tears off of his cheeks. 

"He uh... He was the closest thing I had to a best friend in the Maze." He admitted, "He told me everything about how the Glade worked. He told me about the maze. He was a good person. Only problem was he kept having these.. These episodes. He'd completely zone out for hours, even days on end, and nothing could break him out of it. He wouldn't speak, eat, drink, anything. He'd gone a couple of days without having an episode." He stopped. Scott was looking at him expectantly. 

"Did he... Did he have another episode at all?" Thomas nodded.

"He was standing outside the doors. Gally tried to move him but... But Newt pushed him and I don't know how, but Gally went flying and nobody tried again."

"Wow. So did people freak out?"

"We didn't have any time to. The doors opened and he ran straight into the maze, limp and all. I was the only one that ran after him." 

"Did you catch up to him?" Now the questions were getting to much. He swallowed the lump growing in his throat and wet his lips, trying to steady his heart. 

"Only when he'd climbed the wall. The vines weren't supposed to reach the top, but this time they did. I got to him and he was just standing there. When he snapped out of it I... I saw something." 

"What did you see, Stiles?" Thomas shook his head and the tears returned, cascading down his cheeks and his hand shot to his mouth to stop the sob he felt travelling through him.

"It got him." He choked, "It got him and I couldn't stop it. Scott, he fell and I couldn't catch him." He broke down. His body was racked with sobs and Scott could only squeeze his shoulder comfortingly, "I-I watched him hit the ground. He l-looked so hopeful... Oh god..." 

"Calm down, Stiles," Scott whispered, "Breathe."

 ** _"Why didn't you save me?"_** Newts voice echoed in his mind and he gasped for breath. Now Scott was kneeling in front of him, his hands on Thomas' cheeks, telling him repeatedly to breathe and eventually Thomas managed to collect himself.

"I-I miss him so much," He cried and there was an overwhelming sadness that filled his friends eyes,  "I loved him."

Thomas leaned over and rested his head on Scott's shoulder, his body quivering and shaking with hiccups and crying. Scott rubbed his back slowly. Exhaustion hit Thomas suddenly and he stopped crying as quickly as he started. He sat back and bit his lip. Scott stood up and Said something under his breath, but offered his broken friend a small smile none the less. Thomas forced one in return and Scott seemed a little thankful for the effort. 

"We have school tomorrow," Scott stated, "You can sleep in the spare room, because I'm not letting you go home at midnight in that rain." 

"Thank you." Thomas' voice was raspy and sore from crying, but Scott ignored it. 

"Come on."

The pair went upstairs and Scott opened the door to the spare room, Thomas moving into it cautiously. It was empty except for the perfectly made bed and the desk in the corner. He thanked Scott again and sat on the bed, the brunet in the dootway saying goodnight before leaving and shutting the door behind him when he left. Thomas sat in silence for a long while. Just thinking. He laid down on the duvet, staring up at the ceiling feeling wide awake. He closed his eyes and sighed to himself. After a while, he felt something soft on the corner of his mouth and his eyes opened, his breath catching in his throat.

"Newt?" 

The blond smiled softly from his perch on Thomas' waist, his knees on either side of his body. The room was lit up with an ethereal orange glow, Newts skin warm with the colour. Thomas couldn't move. His hands were resting on the pillow above his head and they felt like weights. Newt smiled down at him, leaning down and kissing his adams Apple gently, his golden hair tickling his chin. 

"Tommy..." His voice was light, almost dreamy. 

"Newt, what.." The blond kissed him, cutting him off, and stroked his cheek with his soft hand. 

"My dear Tommy," He whispered, his lips brushing Thomas' alluringly, "Do you miss me?" 

"Yes," Thomas answered inmediately, "Oh God, Newt, I miss you so much." 

Newt smiled again, his honey brown eyes lighting up as he pushed himself up and kissed Thomas' forehead firmly. He moved his lips to his ear at a painfully slow pace and Thomas sighed contently. Newt nibbled at his ear softly and whispered to him,

"Save me Tommy," A surge of pleasure washed over him, "Find me. Be my hero. Save me."

"Newt..." 

And then he woke up. He opened his eyes to find himself laying alone in the darkened, cold spare room with the window wide open and the cold wind washing any remnants of warmth from his body. He got up and closed it, leaning his forehead against the cold glass. That dream felt so real. It was different from the others. He saw Newt without that shadow figure looming over his shoulder, without that look on his face as he fell; he saw Newt and he wanted more. 

 ** _"Save me Tommy."_** Thomas walked over to the bed and fell down onto it. He nodded to himself, his lips drawn into a tigh line and his hands clenched into fists against the bed.

"I'm sorry," His voice was barely even a whisper, "I tried."

**_"Find me."_ **

"Where are you...?" He whispered the question, but no answer came. The wind beat against his window but no voice spoke in his head. Newts voice disappeared and he fell asleep with a tear trickling down his face and sinking into the pillow under his head.


	3. And Then He Saw Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already have the next chapter planned, but please tell me how this chapter went as I'm not very happy with it! I think it's not as good as the other two ;-; I apologize for my weird writing skills!

“Thomas, we all have them.”

He sighed to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. Minho didn’t get it. Not even Chuck understood. They all just told him the same damn thing. _We all have nightmares. You’re not the only one._ But they didn’t get it. They weren’t there. They weren’t the ones that saw the shadow figure, or watched Newt die. They don’t have the dreams he had about Newt either. He was breaking inside, he could feel it. He was alone in this.

“Minho, I keep seeing him.” Thomas said, “He’s always there, in my dreams. Sometimes… Sometimes they’re good dreams.”

“Who?” Minho inquired, “You’re just confusing me.”

“Newt.” He answered, “Newt’s always in my dreams. He k-keeps telling me it’s my fault and that he hates me, but then he’s… he’s telling me he misses me, telling me to find him.”

“Thomas…” Minho sounded hurt and his voice was quiet, “They’re just dreams. They’re not real. We all just have to move on.”

“I can’t,” Thomas croaked in response, “He won’t let me.” He held the phone away from his ear. It was getting hard to breathe. He could faintly hear Minho calling him from the phone, but tears blurred his vision. Shaking the feeling away, he lifted the phone to his ear again and held his breath.

“Thomas! Are you okay?!” Minho exclaimed, “You sounded like you were hyperventilating.” Thomas breathed out slowly and angrily brushed the tears from his eyes. He couldn’t let this get to him. He had to push through.

“I just…” He faltered, “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Right. I’m coming over. Tell me your address.” Thomas blinked and in his state of shock stuttered out his address, “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Minho hung up before he could reply. He placed his phone down on the coffee table and ran his hands over his face. He hadn’t seen Minho since they got out of the maze. Thomas heard footsteps coming down the stairs and stood up sharply, rubbing his eyes again. His dad appeared in the door frame wearing his uniform, smiling slightly at Thomas. It was a fake smile, he could tell. His dad never wore a genuine smile around him. Sometimes Thomas wished he could remember what his dad looked like when he was happy.

“Who were you on the phone to?” His dad asked softly and Thomas shrugged.

“An old friend…” He smiled, “From the maze.”

“Oh?” His dad’s eyes suddenly lit up, as if he hadn’t expected the answer, “You still get in touch with them all?”

“Yeah,” Thomas shrugged again, “They’re my brothers.” His dad smiled again and this time it was more genuine than before, but it wasn’t happy.

“When will I get to meet them?” He asked, half jokingly and Thomas looked at the clock on the wall.

“Minho is coming over soon.” He couldn’t stop the grin from pulling at the corners of his lips, the idea of seeing his friend again finally hitting home and it made him feel amazing.

“That’s great, son.” His dad said cheerfully, “He must be close to you.”

“He is. He helped me through a lot. When I was down Minho and Newt pulled me right back up.” He thought back to the day when he sprained his ankle in the maze and the two Keepers had to baby sit him for the whole day to keep him from going back in. The memory brought a smile to his face.

“They sound like good people.” His dad sat down on the sofa and turned the television on, “Where’s this Newt guy? Will I get to meet him?”

“No.” Thomas snapped and regretted it instantly, biting his lip again, “I mean, you can’t.”

“Why not?” His dad pressed, eyeing his son determinedly. Thomas sat down on the sofa and stared at the TV.

“Because he’s dead.”

The pair sat in an awkward silence for the rest of the hour. Every now and then his dad would spare him a worried glance, but Thomas kept his eyes firmly on the screen, although he wasn’t paying any attention to whatever they were watching. Relief flooded through his chest when he heard someone knocking at the door, shooting up and walking briskly out of the room. He knew his dad was following him, but he ignored him. Grabbing the door handle, he pulled it open and sure enough Minho was standing on the porch.

“Hi, Thomas.” Thomas didn’t answer. He simply lurched forward and wrapped his arms around his friend tightly. Minho returned the gestured, the pair swaying slightly. Thomas’ dad watched the reunion warily.

“I’ve missed you,” Thomas said eventually, pulling away. Minho grinned at him.

“Ditto.”

“You must be Minho.” The pair looked into the corridor and Thomas’ dad walked towards them with his hands in his pockets.

“Yes, sir.” The Asian boy said, “You must be Thomas’ dad.”

“That I am.” The exchange wasn’t forced, but Thomas could tell his dad was still shaken from the earlier discussion.

“Do you mind if Thomas and I go out for a bit?” Minho asked politely, “We have some things we need to talk about.”

Thomas’ dad nodded in understanding, “I get it. I’ve got to go to work now anyways, go have fun.”

“Thanks dad,” Thomas stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind him while his dad got into his car. The two boys waved as the car backed out of the drive way and disappeared down the road.

“Your dad is nice.” Minho said as the two of them started to walk. Thomas nodded.

“He is.”

“Have you told him?” Thomas shook his head and Minho sighed, “I haven’t told my family much either. All they know is that we were in a maze for a couple of months.”

“My dad knows Newt… He knows he’s dead.” Thomas said quietly and Minho looked at him sharply.

“How did that come about?” Thomas chewed his lip and held his hands up slightly in defence.

“He just… I was telling him about you and I mentioned _him._ My dad just asked the wrong questions.” He pursed his lips and Minho nodded slowly.

“About Newt,” Minho began, and he didn’t look like he knew quite how to continue, “What are these dreams like? The ones you said you keep having?”

“They start off the same. I’m back in the maze… watching him fall… then he starts to say things to me,” He stopped while his voice was still strong and a group of teenagers walked by as they got closer to the park.

“What does he say to you?” Minho pushed and Thomas groaned.

“You already know! We’ve gone over this!”

“Tell me specifically what he says, Thomas. Word for word.” The pair stopped and Thomas faced Minho, looking at the shorter boy incredulously.

“He says things like… ‘It’s all your fault.’ Or ‘Why didn’t you catch me?’ and things like that…” He glanced around before focusing his eyes on Minho’s shoes, “He’s so vivid. Like he’s really there. Screaming at me.”

“Thomas… Something’s not right.” Minho nearly whispered it and Thomas’ attention snapped up to the boy, “In my dreams, he’s there. He talks about you. He says the same things. He asks why you didn’t catch him. And then he…” Minho swallows and wets his lips, sadness leaking into his dark eyes, “He starts asking me why I didn’t punish you, or… Hate you for it.”

“Are you serious?” Thomas questioned breathlessly. Minho nodded again.

“Like you said, it’s as vivid as when I’m awake.”

They walked in silence, both thinking deeply about their friend. Eventually, they reached the park and sat down on one of the benches facing the small field where students and children played football. Thomas leaned his elbows on his knees, his hands pressed against his face. He heard Minho sit beside him but he didn’t make any effort to look at him. His mind was in overdrive, a million thoughts blasting around his skull at once.

“I miss him.” Thomas said to himself.

“We all do.” Minho stated quietly, “Thomas… What happened that day? I know… I know he fell but… I need to know what happened. He was my closest friend.” Thomas looked up, gazing out at the footballers and licked his lips.

“After he ran into the maze, he climbed the vines. They went all the way to the top this time. We were… We were standing on the maze. He snapped out of it, you know? He looked at me and... There was this _thing_ standing behind him. Like, it just came out of thin air.”

“What was it? A Griever?”

“No, no, it was… it was like a shadow. It was a person, but it was like it was made out of smoke. It did something to him, caused that stomach wound. I tried to get to him as fast as I could but…” He choked up, Minho putting an arm around his shoulder and squeezing slightly, “He couldn’t keep himself standing and he fell.”

“What do you think it was…? The shadow?” Minho pondered softly.

“I don’t know.” Thomas replied.

“Hey Stiles!”

Thomas sat bolt upright, looking around with wide eyes until he saw a small group of people making their way towards him with bright smiles on their faces. Minho looked like he’d never been so confused in his entire life. Thomas just stood up, and the group of people he knew as his friends reached them.

“Who’s this?” Scott implored, looking down at Minho. The Asian boy stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans before offering one to Scott.

“The name’s Minho.” He said and Scott shook his hand.

“I’m Scott.” He took his hand back and looked at Thomas again, “We saw you from over there and decided to say hi. I’ve always wanted to meet your friends from… that place.”

“Yeah,” Thomas grinned, glancing at Minho, who seemed slightly uncomfortable, “We were just talking about… stuff.”

“Well,” Lydia interrupted, eyes drifting over Minho in appreciation, “I’m glad you came out today. Want to walk with us?”

“Sure, if Thomas doesn’t mind.” Minho used his name absent mindedly and they all looked between the former Runners in surprise.

“…Thomas?” Malia repeated lowly, as if the name was another language entirely.

“Oh shuck,” Minho muttered and Thomas shook his head, “I meant… um…”

“Stiles,” Thomas said, “They call me Stiles.”

“Stiles,” Minho tested the name, scowling a little, “Doesn’t suit you as much.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Whoa, wait, so they never called you Stiles in the maze?” Scott narrowed his eyes, and Thomas sighed exasperatedly.

“I had my memory wiped okay? I didn’t know my name. Thomas was the first one that… Fit. So they called me Thomas. Heck, it never even crossed my mind that it wasn’t my name!”

“Thomas,” Minho grimaced and corrected himself, “ _Stiles,_ it’s really not a big deal. I’ll call you Stiles.”

“This is so weird,” Lydia murmured, Allison making a noise of protest.

“It’s not that weird,” She shied from the looks she got from her friends, “Maybe a little…”

“Minho, just call me Thomas.” The pale Runner said at last, and Minho smiled thankfully.

“Thank God for that, shuck-face,” Mirth glimmered in Minho’s eyes and for once Thomas felt content, “Even Gally would pitch a fit over the name Stiles.” Thomas couldn’t help but laugh. For the first time in forever, he well and truly laughed.

“Where is Gally anyway?” He asked out of the blue. Minho shrugged.

“He went with his family. Has an older brother and everything.”

**_“Tommy.”_ **

“…Who just said that?” Everyone looked at him in confusion. Had they even heard it?

“Said what?” Allison asked. Thomas ran his fingers through his hair.

**_“Tommy. Run.”_ **

“That! Don’t you guys hear it?” He was nearly shouting. He knew the voice. That accent was unmistakable.

“Thomas, you’re not making any sense!” Minho retorted.

**_“Run. It’s happening.”_ **

“Newt…?” Thomas whispered and Minho paled.

“What?”

**_“Please, Tommy. Please.”_ **

Thomas looked around desperately. He felt a hand on his shoulder but he shrugged it off. He could see him. He was there. Standing a few metres away, his blond hair glistening in the sun. Thomas couldn’t believe it. Newt was right _there._ The blond was holding something, gripping it tightly by his side. Thomas gasped upon realising what it was, noting the glint of silver as the blade twitched in Newts hand. Thomas lifted his hand, pointing voicelessly.

**_“Run! Tommy GO AWAY! FUCKING RUN!”_ **

Thomas bent over and clutched his head, Newts voice rising and rising until it was excruciatingly loud and pounded at his head like a hammer. He looked up through his hair; people were oblivious. Minho was holding him up and he could vaguely hear someone calling his name through the drums in his ears. Thomas lifted his hand and pointed again. Minho’s grip on his relaxed and he nearly missed the string of curse words that flowed from the Runners mouth. Newt’s eyes were focused on something and they held no colour, only a swirling darkness.

“Oh God,” Minho whispered, “Its Newt…”

“I thought he was… I thought he was dead?” Scott questioned, following the two Gladers eyes to where the blond was standing.

“He was.”

 ** _“RUN! YOU’LL GET HURT IF YOU STAY!”_** Thomas ignored the pain this time and tried to push forward through the group of people around him. Newt was already moving, pushing people out of his way like his life depended on it. Before Thomas could react, the blade span in Newts hand as the blond lifted it up in the air.

“NEWT! NO!” He watched in pure horror as the blade swung down again, hitting someone’s back like a tonne of bricks.

The teenager screamed, the sound startling everyone. The sickening sound of metal slicing flesh filled the air as Newt pulled the blade out and thrust it back in, the teen falling and his friends scattering out of the way. Then came the screams. Thomas burst forward, running straight for the blond. Newt dropped to his knees, straddling the teenager’s waist as the boy struggled and twisted in his grip- blood was pooling around his body and dribbling out of his mouth as he pleaded for mercy. Newt just kept plunging the blade into his chest, both bloodied hands clutching the handle and slamming it down again and again.

Thomas ran into him, tackling the blond and knocking him off the teenager’s body. Newt flailed beneath him and he tried desperately to pin him, but Newt brought his legs in under him and with a strong kick Thomas flew onto his back, the air rushing out of him. Scott pulled him up and once on his feet, he looked for Newt. He was already running in the opposite direction.

“I thought you said he had a limp?!” Scott shouted angrily and Thomas gasped for breath.

“He did have a limp.” Was all he could say before he started too run. Scott and the others called out for him but he was already sprinting as fast as his legs would allow. He looked back for only second. Minho was behind him, looking terrified. He reverted his attention back to Newts back as he chased him. He was heading towards the school.

“Thomas! He’s too fast!” Minho bellowed from behind him. Thomas didn’t listen. He just wanted Newt.

**_“TURN BACK! NOW!”_ **

“NO!” Thomas answered furiously. Newt suddenly spun around, swinging his arm out swiftly before turning and running again.

Thomas felt a sharp sting in his chest and he couldn’t keep running. He slowed to a complete stop, gripping his chest in agony. He pulled his hand away just as Minho skidded to a halt in front of him. A small smear of blood stained his palm and he ran his hand over his chest again, wincing as it brushed over something sharp and his chest ignited with pain. His hands shook as he pinched the sharp object, pulling on it. He groaned in pain. The metal needle slid out easily but it was agaonising; it was stuck in deep. It was about the length of his index finger.

“He’s gone.”

Thomas blinked the tears away and looked out at where Newt had been. Minho was right. Newt was nowhere to be seen. Scott and the girls caught up to them at that moment and Thomas dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead to the floor, hands scraping against the tarmac. Someone patted his back, although he couldn’t have cared who, and he stifled the cries of agony and despair pushing their way out.

“N-Newt…” He whispered, “Why…?”

 ** _“Tommy… He…”_** His voice was faint, **_“… Stop… Hurting… Me…”_**

“Thomas, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He couldn’t decipher who was talking to him now. All he cared about was Newts distorted voice in his head.

 ** _“Can’t… Stop…”_** Now Newts voice was too faint, **_“Sorry…”_**

“Newt…”

And then Thomas fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify, any speech in Bold Italics is in Thomas head, so nobody else can hear it except him... Hope that clears anything up XD


	4. Bullet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this takes place two days after last chapter and Thomas is no longer injured (the metal splinter missed anything important)...  
> Also, I'm SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG BUT I HAD AWFUL WRITERS BLOCK!

Thomas placed his hand on Newts cheek, the other drifting down over the blonde’s body to rest on his waist, their lips moving in sync with each other. They barely even broke apart for air; Thomas was desperate to taste Newt, to feel him again after all this time. He knew it was only a dream, but he found himself sinking deeper into it and this fake image of Newt straddling him in an armchair was almost too tempting to pass up. Newt’s mouth was hot, his skin even hotter in this familiar orange glow and it felt so damn _good_ that Thomas was desperate for more.

“Newt…” He whispered when they broke apart, the blond opening his eyes slowly.

“Hm…?” Newt hummed lowly, brushing his fingers down Thomas’ cheek.

“Why…” Thomas blinked, as if he’d come to a sudden realisation, “Why did you kill that boy?”

Newt frowned, “Boy?”

“You killed someone,” Thomas repeated, “You… You stabbed him.”

“I…” The serene expression that Newt once had disappeared and his brow furrowed in confusion, “I don’t…”

“What happened to you, Newt?” Thomas asked quietly and Newt’s breathing quickened. His eyes started to dart about Thomas’ face, fear settling in his features.

“He…” Tears started to fall down Newt’s cheeks, “I can’t… He…” Thomas quickly took Newts face in his hands and leaned forward slightly.

“Newt, please,” He pushed, “Tell me.”

“He’ll kill me,” Newt finally croaked. Thomas frowned, eyeing his lovers face worriedly.

“Who?”

“I can’t…” Newt shook his head frantically, hands shooting to his head, “I can’t!”

“Newt, calm down,” Thomas steadied Newts shaking body with his hands clutching the blonde’s waist, “Shh, nobody’s going to hurt you.”

“I can hear him,” Newt whispered, his hands moving to Thomas’ shoulders and gripping them tightly, eyes blown wide with fear, “Don’t let him take me away!”

“Who?!” Thomas all but shouted, “Newt, I don’t understand!”

Newt let out a small sob, wrapping his arms around Thomas’ neck and nearly crushing him with how hard he held on. Thomas held him just as tight, rocking him forward a little as he let the initial shock sink in. Who was Newt talking about? The brunette looked towards the doorway over Newt’s shuddering shoulder and he gasped, a loud bang made his heart jump straight into his throat. He held Newt tighter, but the blonde’s grip relaxed and his arms dropped away from his neck. Thomas’ eyes widened and his mouth grew dry.

“No.” He whispered, pulling Newt away from him. The blonde’s head rolled back and his arms fell limp by his sides, “Oh God…” Thomas kept his arm around Newts waist, supporting his upper back with one hand and he felt faint when the blond remained limp in his arms. Anger now swirled in his head like a brewing storm and he glared up at the doorway.

“Time to wake up.” The man standing there said, his voice deep and mocking as he held up his pistol.

The last thing Thomas heard was a deafening bang before he woke up in his bed in a cold sweat. He gasped for breath and sat bolt upright in his bed. He whimpered softly, clamping a hand over his mouth before the sound could escalate. He felt bile rising in his throat and shot out of bed, stumbling into the bathroom where he proceeded to throw up whatever was in his stomach into the toilet. It burned his throat and tears filled his eyes. When he was done he sat back against the bathroom wall, wiping the sweat from his face feebly.

“Stiles?” He looked over at the door and bit his lip. His dad was staring at him with concern written all over his face.

“I’m fine.” Thomas muttered, his voice hoarse and rasping.

“You literally just threw your guts up,” His dad quirked an eyebrow, “You’re not okay.”

“I’m fine,” Thomas persisted, pushing himself to his feet, “Just another nightmare is all.”

“Do you… Do you want to talk about it?” Thomas shook his head, not looking his dad in the eyes.

“I… I can’t, not right now.” He explained half heartedly and his dad simply smiled in understanding.

“Right. Still, I think you should skip school today,” Thomas protested almost instantly.

“No, no, I’m fine, I just freaked out a bit is all!” His dad raised his hands in defence and fixed his son with a look of defeat.

“Okay, but if you start feeling ill at school, text me and I’ll be picking you up.” He left no room for argument and left the bathroom, Thomas staring after him hopelessly, “Oh, and you only have an hour to kill before you actually have to get ready for school.”

Thomas groaned and despite what had happened, for a split second, he felt like a normal teenager.

-X-

Later, when Thomas had finally gotten dressed, he went into the kitchen and grabbed a glass, filling it with water. His stomach still felt a little uneasy and it was rather distracting. He took the glass into the front room, sipping it lazily as he gazed at the TV screen. Spluttering, he nearly dropped the glass and he swallowed the water thickly, staring wide eyed at the TV. They were talking about Newt; a blurry picture of the blond in the top corner.

 _“This young man was seen in Beacon Hills two days ago on a Saturday afternoon, multiple witnesses reporting that he had attacked teenager Curtis Daniels without reason, before moving on to kill another unsuspecting teenager, Simona Smith. The bodies both showed seven deep stab wounds to the chest but no sign of a weapon…”_ Thomas lifted his free hand and covered his open mouth, _“The killer, suspected to be in his late teens according to witnesses, was last seen running down the alley next to Red Curtain Café after leaving Simona Smith in critical condition…”_

Thomas dropped the glass, the object slipping through his fingers before he could even think, and the faint smash snapped him back into reality. He let out a short gasp before his legs started to move. His dad jumped out of the way when Thomas broke into a run towards the door. He called his sons name, but the teenager refused to acknowledge him and instead broke out of the front door with barely contained urgency. That boy on the news was not Newt. Newt couldn’t do something like that and then move onto _another_ person… Not the blond Angel he knew… And yet, Thomas knew deep down that he was simply wishing against the facts laid out for him.

As he ran, he could feel a familiar sense of fear starting to nag at the back of his head. The harder he pushed, the faster he ran, the harder it became to ignore. His heart was starting to beat without pattern and he was tempted to look over his shoulder like he did in the Maze. Sneaking a peak, he nearly tripped up in relief when all he saw was the concrete path and houses standing like soldiers behind him. He returned his attention to the path ahead and the burning in his skull faded slightly. He wasn’t in the maze anymore. He was in Beacon Hills. He repeated this, picturing Newt as clearly as he could, and he found himself able to run with a looseness in his limbs that he’d never had before.

When he finally reached his destination, he skidded to a halt right outside of the Red Curtain Café with sweat dripping down the side of his face. A few yards away there was a big white tent, yellow and black tape surrounding it and people entering and leaving it briskly with gaunt expressions on their faces. Thomas realised it was the crime scene for that girl, Simona. He backed away slowly, averting his eyes as if he’d been looking at something he shouldn’t have been looking at. He turned to the alley next to the Café, the shadows suddenly looking very inviting compared to this eerie space, and he slipped into it silently.

He walked all the way down before he met the dead end, which had been blocked off by yellow police tape. He slipped under it carefully and eyed the dead end, investigating the boring brick wall with avid curiosity. Raising a hesitant hand, Thomas’ fingers hovered over the choppy white strokes of chalk scrawled over the brick. It made no sense. The chalk formed a big circle, with what he assumed to be Latin hastily scribbled in and around it, a big symbol resembling a stick figure in the middle- its hands and feet outside the circle.

“What the hell…?” He murmured to himself.

“Tommy.”

Thomas froze. His back straightened and his eyes widened, his face paling. That voice… He turned around and he couldn’t stop the short breath of relief from slipping out. Newt was standing only a metre away, his hands by his sides and his head slightly bowed. Only now did Thomas actually pay attention go what the blond was wearing. Newt had a plain white t-shirt on and a black leather jacket, but the sleeves seemed a fraction too big, as well as skinny jeans with the knees ripped up. The attire seemed so out of character, but then again Thomas couldn’t deny it stirred something in the pit of his stomach.

“Newt…” He managed to get out and Newt fixed him with an icy stare.

“You need to stop.” Newt stated coldly. Thomas narrowed his eyes in confusion.

“Stop what?” He frowned, “Newt, I don’t…”

“You. Need. To. Stop.” Newt repeated, stressing each word with stoic irritation.

“I’m not doing anything!” Thomas exclaimed, “You’re the one killing people!”

“This is your only warning.” Newt said calmly, “He won’t tolerate interference.”

“Who is he?” Thomas questioned, his voice softening, “Newt, I want to help you.”

“No.” Newt turned his back on Thomas and the brunette shot forward before he could stop himself, his hand finding Newt’s shoulder. The blond was suddenly facing him and backed away like he’d been burnt. There was a click and a bang. Thomas stared in shock at the gun in his friend’s hand. It was aimed right at his chest, Newt’s hold unwavering. He had fired a warning shot at the brunette’s feet.

“I said,” Newt growled, malice dripping from every word, “No.”

“Newt, I…” Words failed him, they caught in his throat.

“Come any closer and I will kill you.”

“ _Drop your weapon!”_

Thomas’ eyes snapped up and over Newts shoulder he could see a police woman with her gun ready and loaded. Thomas lifted his hands as a sign of defeat but Newt remained indifferent. In fact, he only seemed to glare even harder.

_“Drop your weapon, or I’ll shoot!”_

A dark look lit up Newts face. A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips before it disappeared and Thomas watched the blond go through a complete change. His shoulders sagged and his grip on the gun became loose, his eyes widening and fear seeping into his expression. Confused, Thomas braved a step forward. The Police officer was getting closer. Newt looked up at Thomas before glancing down at the quivering gun in his hand as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Tommy…” He whispered, “Don’t let him take me away…” Thomas froze. Those were the last words Newt had said in the dream before...

**BANG!**

Newt gasped, the bullet tearing through his left shoulder. Thomas couldn’t stop himself from instinctively lurching forward to catch the blond as he fell. He ignored the shouts for him to get away. Newt was breathing heavily, unevenly, his face pale as he stared up at the sky. Thomas touched his cheek, his fingers barely even brushing the skin, and Newt’s pain filled eyes found his own. They held eye contact for only a few seconds before Newt started to cough, his body shaking violently, and hands grabbed hold of Thomas. They dragged him back and he fell promptly on his backside.

“Sir, we have to…”

The man’s voice was drowned out by an uproar of talking and shouting. Newt’s body was blocked by the hoard of police and paramedics that seemed to have come out of nowhere- but then Thomas remembered that they were right next to a crime scene. He felt a hand slap him lightly and he blinked, only just noticing the man kneeling in front of him.

“Sir, we need to take you back to the Police Station for some questioning…” Thomas nodded vacantly. He didn’t want to talk. He was pulled to his feet and a flash of red caught his attention. Blood. His palm was lathered in it. It was Newts blood. Thomas felt ill.

“He’s in shock!”

“Get him to the station.”

“Sir, we need to know your name…”

“Thomas…” He said absently, his mind still reeling, “Thomas.”


	5. Looking Good In Iron Maiden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't like how this chapter is written, it's not my best, but I hope you all like where it went at least...   
> Also! I used the term 'joggers' in here but idk if everyone uses that term? It's basically jogging bottoms or trackies or... sweatpants, i think Americans call them, so that's what I meant by joggers :)

It was three weeks before anything happened. Thomas was questioned until the authorities deemed it was safe for him to go home and after they’d cleared up the near identity crisis because he’d accidentally said his name was Thomas in the heat of the moment, but he’d still heard no news of Newt. The media kept quiet about it and that unnerved Thomas. He found himself unable to get to sleep at night; Newt always creeping into his thoughts. Minho and Scott both called and checked in on him after the incident, coddling him like he was a child. To be quite honest, Thomas welcomed the attention. He needed to distract himself.

On one particular Tuesday afternoon, something finally happened. Scott and Mino were at Thomas’ house for once, just talking about nothing and everything while they watched Netflix in the front room. They had gone over what happened with Newt enough times to just be able to sit back and talk about something... Normal. It was odd, Thomas wondered, how easy it was for Minho and him to be so normal around Scott. The guy had a strange way about things that just made everything seem okay again.

They did stop talking at some point, finding the movie suddenly very interesting. Thomas had forgotten the name of the movie, but from what he’d seen it was about a prison escape. Kind of ironic, huh?

Eventually, he grew thirsty and moving was inevitable. He sighed, sat up and stretched his arms out. He was definitely sat down for too long. He glanced at Minho and Scott; both of them were transfixed by the movie as the pace started to pick up.

“Hey, do you guys want a drink or anything?”

-o-O-o-

_He was running on fumes as he nearly fell against the door, his forehead resting against the wood as he tried to desperately catch his breath, lungs burning. Hot tears filled his eyes and he screwed them tight shut, baring his teeth at the door and growling softly. Lifting his hands, he pressed them against the wood and dug his nails into it. He was losing strength quickly. Anger quickly swelled in his chest. Why did it have to be like this? That fucker took away his chances of living a normal life outside the maze and now he was going to die again and Tommy was going to find him._

_No. He had to get away from here. His caged hand became a fist as he brought it down sharply on the door, pain moving through his arm. Pushing himself off roughly, he stumbled away from it and back down the little garden path just as it started to rain. Before he could even get halfway to the pavement, he grew dizzy. His vision blurred and his hand clutched his head when he felt the dull ache begin to form._

_That’s when he noticed the blood_.

-o-O-o-

They all heard the bang. Thomas promptly shut the fridge door and after swallowing his initial shock he met Minho and Scott in the hallway. They were both just as surprised as he was. It was a very loud noise, enough to make his heart stop in his chest. It was definitely not someone just knocking on their door, surely?

“What the hell was that?” Scott asked quietly. Thomas shrugged, taking a cautious step towards the front door.

His hand wrapped around the handle and pushed all worrisome thoughts to the back of his mind, instead focusing on turning the handle. As soon as the door swung open they were hit by a wall of cold air and the smell of damp grass. When did it start raining? Turns out that question really didn’t matter much when he looked out into his small front garden and saw the back of a person standing there. He recognised the blond hair and the leather jacket instantly.

“...Newt?” His blood ran cold as the persons head tilted up at the sound of his voice. Only then did Thomas realise they were looking down at their hands.

The blond turned slowly to look at him and Thomas felt the air escape his lungs sharply; it was definitely Newt. Blood was splattered across half his face, from his left eye to his lips and down his neck. His hands were held in front of him from when he was looking down at them, but even they were drenched in blood. Newt’s eyes were wide in what Thomas assumed was shock.

“Tommy.”

Newt blinked and he looked... Relieved, for a few moments at least, before his eyes rolled back into his head and he dropped to his knees. Thomas quickly ran to his aid, dismissing the warning sirens in his head. He dropped down in front of Newt and let the blond collapse into him, wrapping his arms around Newt’s shoulders protectively.

“Newt, how did you…?” He found that he didn’t really know what to say. The rain was only getting heavier.

“…Don’t remember…” Newt mumbled into his chest.

“Well, c-come on, we need t-to get you inside…”

Minho and Scott helped him get Newt to his feet, walking back into the house with a half conscious Newt in their arms. Thomas glanced at Scott, who just shook his head with a disbelieving look on his face.

“Thank God your dad isn’t home to see this.”

Thomas merely groaned. His dad was going to come home and find a shucking murderer in his house… He mentally chastised himself for that; Newt wasn’t a murderer.He looked at the wet blond carefully and shook his head. _There’s a time for questions and answers but its not now,_ he thought to himself.

“Minho, get some clothes from my bedroom. Stiles and I will take Newt to the bathroom.” Scott continued swiftly and Minho nodded firmly.

“Don’t let him out of your sights, shank.” Minho quipped before disappearing up the stairs in front of them.

Scott raised an eyebrow at Thomas, “Shank?”

“Don’t ask.”

-o-O-o-

Newt was lowered onto the bathroom floor gently, his back resting against the bathtub. Thomas knelt in front of him and watched Newt’s face cautiously. The blond seemed to be having trouble staying awake, his eyes drifting close every now and then and his breathing was sharp and irregular. Scott offered Thomas a towel that he’d soaked in warm water and he took it with a small smile. He reached out with the towel made into a little cone, but the second the pointed end came into contact with Newts cheek, the blonds eyes snapped open and he grabbed Thomas’ outstretched wrist fearfully.

“No, no, I’m not going to hurt you,” Thomas quickly whispered softly, “I just need to clean this blood, okay?”

Newt regarded him with a calculating gaze for a few seconds. The silence was tense. Finally, Newt’s grip relented and his hand dropped to his lap. Thomas went on to start wiping any remaining blood from the blonds face. The rain took care of a lot of it, but there was still some on his arms and face. He faltered when it came to Newts lips. Newt’s expression didn’t change despite the fact Thomas’ change in demeanour. Thomas swallowed the lump in his throat and brushed Newts lips with the towel.

“Hey,” They all looked up at Minho and he lifted up the set of folded clothes he found, “I found some clothes I think would fit.”

Thomas nodded and looked back at Newt, who was staring up at Minho curiously. Did he remember Minho? Maybe not. But that was something to work on. Thomas picked up Newts hand and started wiping away the blood, then worked on the other arm. The blood stained a little but it was enough. He got to his feet and sighed.

“Newt… Do you think you can… Get changed yourself, or…?”

Newt bent his knee and with one arm on the edge of the bathtub he tried to pull himself to his feet. Thomas grimaced slightly at the flash of pain that darted across Newts face. As soon as he was on his feet he tried to take a step forward, but apparently his legs weren’t quite as fast as his brain and he stumbled. Thomas was surprised to say the least when Newt caught himself by grabbing hold of his arms just as Thomas moved to catch him. Newt resorted to just resting his head on Thomas’ shoulder again and he cleared his throat at the close proximity.

“Right…” Thomas muttered, “Scott, Minho, could you just give us some space? Don’t think it takes three to get him changed…”

Scott frowned, “If anything happens, just shout. Don’t try and deal with it on your own.”

Thomas smiled, “Okay.” He waited for the door to shut to revert his attention back to Newt.

“Hey, buddy.” He said quietly. Newt lifted his head and looked at him with those familiar brown eyes.

“I’m tired.” Newt mumbled. Thomas snorted a chuckled.

“I know, I know, and you can sleep once you’re changed okay?”

Newt nodded, “M’kay…”

“Right, can you get your shirt off?”

Newt let go of him to start peeling his wet shirt off and Thomas helped when he lost the energy to pull it completely over his head. When he looked over Newt’s chest, his heart nearly stopped in his chest. There were scars literally littering his chest and stomach. There were two arching under both sides of his ribs and one going straight down his stomach over his belly button. The difference between those ones and the other smaller ones was that they were… Precise. Surgical. Like they were done on purpose rather than the aftermath of a fight. The other thing he noticed was how there was nearly no sign of a bullet wound from the event three weeks prior. Just a faint scar.

“Holy shit, Newt…” He gasped and Newt blinked at him confusedly. Thomas traced the long, white scar just beneath the ribs. Newt touched his wrist and Thomas looked back up at him.

“They’re old.”

“But where did they come from…? Who did this to you, Newt?”

Newt looked away sharply and Thomas took that as a _Shut Up._ Grabbing a fresh towel, he dried Newt’s torso as thoroughly as possible. He picked up the clothes and Newt put on the Iron Maiden shirt. Thomas smiled fondly at the sight. He looked good. After that he helped Newt out of his jeans and into a pair of joggers.

“Tommy?” Newt’s voice was weak and barely even above a whisper.

“Yes?” Newt didn’t answer with words. He just wrapped his arms around Thomas and held him. His lips parted in surprise, but he returned the gesture equally as tightly. They stood like that for a while. Warmth spread through his heart. Newt was here. Newt was back.

“Are you okay in there?”

Thomas pulled away from Newt, “Y-Yeah, we’re okay.”

“Hurry up, your dad will be back soon!”

“One moment!”

“Can I… Can I sleep now?” Newt asked. Thomas nodded.

“Let’s just get you to my room.”

-o-O-o-

Newt fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Minho was sat at the desk, watching the sleeping blond, while Thomas sat on the edge of the bed and Scott leaned against the door. Newt was sleeping so peacefully, it was hard to believe he’d killed people. He looked just like he did in the maze. An Angel. Thomas’ angel.

“The police will be looking for him, you know.” Scott’s voice broke the silence.

“Yeah, I know.” Thomas replied distantly. Minho and Scott shared a look.

“And your dad is the Sheriff.” Minho muttered. Thomas fixed him with a glare.

“I know.”

“Then what are we going to do?” The ex-Runner exclaimed, but quickly changed to a whisper after Newt shifted, “We don’t even know if this is Newt… Shucking hell, he’s killed people. Newt wouldn’t kill people.”

“Minho, I don’t think this is _just_ Newt. I mean, he… Someone else is involved. I know it.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do, okay?” He sighed, “I just do.”

“If someone else is involved we need to find them.” Scott said. Thomas nodded.

“We need to ask Newt some things when he wakes up… and we need to try and convince my dad he’s not a danger.” Newt suddenly turned and sighed in his sleep, burying his cheek into the pillow, “For now, you guys should go home and get some sleep.”

“No way am I leaving you here, shank.” Minho said.

“I’ll grab the sleeping bags.” Scott smirked and left the room.

Thomas grinned at them sleepily, “You guys… I couldn't live without you.”

“Damn straight, shuck-face.”


End file.
